


Enchanted Forest

by Lokisgame



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Secrets, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-09-16 07:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16949703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokisgame/pseuds/Lokisgame
Summary: “You called so,” he said, shrugging slightly, “here I am.”





	1. Chapter 1

Missy gave her the certificate for Christmas. Elegant gold lettering on rich, moss green paper. Enchanted Forest.   
There were no pictures, just names and short descriptions. Bear, strong and confident, Wolf, a dangerous touch, Rabbit, lasts all night. She read through the list, snickering, until her eyes stopped on one name, all too familiar, Fox, sly and imaginative. Blush crept up her cheeks, eyes falling to the bottom of the page, the phone number woven trough branches of poison ivy. It was ages since she felt a man’s hands on her skin, or did something recklessly naughty, and besides, the service was already paid for.   
She picked up the phone and dialed, her heart racing when a deep, male voice answered.   
“Enchanted Forest, how may we serve you tonight?” 

xxxx

The man's voice was calm and warm, explaining how discrete and safe the service was. Phrases played stuck on repeat in her head, highly recommended, excellent choice for first time clients. Mr Fox was on his way, should be there within the hour.   
Refreshed and ready, she forced herself to not pace the room, letting the excitement simmer through her blood. The doorbell rang, once, right on time, but looking through the peep hole, she cursed her luck.   
“Good evening,” he smiled, hands in pockets of his long, dark coat.  
“Mulder,” she smiled back, casual and natural, but not stepping aside to let him inside, “I’m sorry, but I’m waiting for someone.”   
“I know,” he said softly, producing a deep green business card. She reached for it by pure reflex and her eyes went wide. “May I?”   
Her hands began to shake as she let him through. The card was kept in the same style as the pamphlet, gold and green and poison ivy, a phone number and two words written on it. “Mr. Fox”. Looking up, she noticed the dark shirt and suit, way too elegant for FBI, just as the hint of cologne and finally, his tie. Matching the card in color and style, it bore tiny, abstract foxes, embroidered in gold thread. Their eyes met and there was something new in his stance, a confidence she never seen before.   
“Why?” She managed to whisper, trying to wrap her mind around the facts.   
“You called,” he said, shrugging slightly, “so here I am.”  
Seeing his lips twitch, Scully marshaled her thoughts into something more specific. “You knew where you were going, you knew it was me.”  
“I did,” he took a step closer, hands warm and sure resting on her shoulders.   
“Then why?”  
Mulder sighed, leaning in and resting his forehead against hers. “Do you trust me?”   
“Yes, but,” she had a good reason, but lost it, as he framed her cheeks in his palms, looking her straight in the eye.  
“Will you trust Mr. Fox?” His warm breath brushed her lips, sending a shiver down her spine.   
“I,” she swayed, and steadying herself, registered a heartbeat beneath her palm, racing, just a layer of silk away. She whispered, “I can’t.”   
His hands were gone instantly, though their warmth still tingled on her cheeks. The room felt a little too cool, when he took a step back, then another. One more and Mulder’s hand was on the doorknob.  
“I understand,” he said quietly, “I’ll let the company know, that your account is still open.”  
“Mulder,” she tried, searching for words that once more betrayed her, slipping from her grasp. He looked up, and she realized, what she’d done.   
“Goodnight.” He said and without another word, left.


	2. Chapter 2

She stood rooted to the spot long enough, that when she yanked the doors open and looked outside, he was gone. Scully locked all the locks and leaned on the cool wood heavily, remembering the business card. It's gold lettering still winked at her, mesmerizing. Mulder by day, Mr. Fox by night. With him gone, questions were flooding her mind. Back on the couch, she grabbed the phone, dialing Missy's number. After excruciatingly long four rings, she answered.  
"Hello."  
"Hi Missy, it's Dana."  
"Oh, hi sis, what's up."  
"Remember that thing you gave me for Christmas?" She didn't even finish her thought when Missy practically squealed in delight.  
"Did you use it? How was it?"  
"Where did you get it? I mean, how did you find out about it."   
"Oh, through Abby, from the foundation, why?" Unexpected questions made her sound concerned. "Are you okay? Did something happen? She assured me they were completely safe, she never had any problems."  
"No, no, everything's fine, I'm fine," she wasn't fine, but that wasn't something she needed to know. "Missy, did you," her throat became dry, not sure which idea was worse, her sister knowing about Mulder and not telling her, or the two of them, setting her up, together. "Did you use their services?"  
"I may have."  
"Who?"   
"Dana!" A nervous laugh on the other end sank her heart.  
"Tell me Missy, or so help me!"  
"Mr Wolf," she bristled, "honestly, you act as if I kissed your boyfriend or something, we're not in school anymore." She babbled on, while Scully drew in a few steading breaths.   
"So," Missy stretched out the word sending Scully back to high school, contrary to her own words just a second before, "whom did you chose?"   
"I have to go." She couldn't do this, she hung up and tossed the phone between the pillows.   
What could be worse, than her best friend, catching her paying for sex? Trying to pay that same friend for sex.   
Hiding her face in the closest of pillows, she moaned and curled up in a ball.   
"What was I thinking!" 

Waiting at a red light, Mulder yanked the silk tie from around his neck and called the agency.   
"Whoa, Foxy," amused voice answered without preamble, "are you trying to set a new company record?"  
"Save it Bear," the lights changed and he put the car in gear, "she hared out, nothing happened. Reset the account."  
"You know we don't do that."  
"Just do it, and flag the number, I'm not going back."  
"That bad, huh?"   
"Personal reasons."   
"Now I've seen everything." He mused, keyboard clicked in the background. "Mr Fox found his Little Red Ridding Hood."  
"You have no idea," Mulder murmured, mostly to himself.   
"Okay, done." A chair squeaked, Bear was a huge guy, probably viking on his Scandinavian side. "So, if Red stood you out, how about a Grandma, I've got Madam Secretary in dire need of company."   
"No, I'm off for the night."  
"C'mon man, it's Saturday night, the phone is ringing off the hook."  
"Call Mark." Mulder said and hung up, tossing the phone on the passenger seat.   
Another red light, it felt like a theme night. Grabbing the wheel, white knuckles on twelve, he hid his face from the lights.   
What could be worse, than your best friend learning about your kinky side-job? Coming out, only to have the doors slammed shut, regardless of history and years of trust.   
Forehead banging against his closed fists, he chanted quietly.   
"What was I thinking."


	3. Chapter 3

Mulder pulled on a t-shirt with a pair of sweats and fell into bed, face first, between cold sheets and pillows. Who could have thought that, what felt like winning the lottery a few hours ago, turned into probably the most monumental clusterfuck of his adult life.  
As he tied his signature tie, trying to control the giddy grin, he was convinced, that his luck was finally turning around. By some stroke of luck, Scully’s call for affection fell right into his lap, if you pardon the expression. It was karma, divine justice, destiny written in the stars. He practically grew wings on his way to Georgetown, imagining himself fulfilling her every desire, voiced or intuited, saw her naked and satiated, looking at him as if he was the best lover she ever had, the last lover she’d ever want.  
But most importantly, he saw the last wall between them torn down. They were partners, friends, and now, if he did it right, Scully could finally become his everything. He would show up at her doorstep as Mr. Fox, yes, but he wasn't fooling himself, he would be making love to her, not some stranger. He felt happy, he felt excited. He was an idiot; certifiable.  
Now alarm clock on his nightstand showed 1 am and he was too wired to sleep, too weird out to jerk off, and too sick to eat. Whirling thoughts searched for an outlet, and the best way he knew to direct them, was to go for a run, even if at the moment it seemed like running away from his problems.  
Wearing a hoodie over a sweatshirt against the cold, he locked the place and took the stairs down, heading for the park a few blocks south. 

The night was cold and humid, wind carrying new weather to D.C.  
"Wind of change," he thought morosely.  
He could handle misunderstandings, arguments, even awkward silence, but what if this night went beyond anything they went through so far. Thinking what it could mean, what changes he might be facing, almost made him sick with worry.  
It was Scully, he knew perfectly well that she didn't pour milk into her coffee, without thinking about consequences. Of course she would be stunned, once he dropped a bomb on her like that. As revelations go, this was probably the last thing she'd expect, convinced he was a porn-obsessed loner, which wasn't untrue. To be honest, they rarely talked about their love-lives, with his being what it was and hers too scary for him to even contemplate. He had nightmares about calling her place, only to hear a guy pick up the phone, and sometimes, after he woke up from one of those, he'd call her for real, just to make sure she'd pick up, as childish as it might seem.  
The escort job gave him release, escape, even some measure of affection, but not connection. To women he met, he was a fantasy, while to him, Scully was a fantasy and reality. He saw her fierce, strong and proud, but also playful, caring and vulnerable, he knew her, he wanted her, with everything that she was.  
Now he found himself wanting to move past this night, hoping, she'll forgive him this false start and let things between them stay, as they were.  
He circled the park and picked the long way back, breath turning into puffs of vapor in the yellow glow of the streetlights. A block from his place, a cab stopped by the curb and two young women stumble out of it, giggling and more than a little drunk. Mulder veered around them, without breaking the pace, ignoring whistles and laugh echoing after him. He didn't look back, or care for that matter.  
He ignored the elevator on his way up to the apartment and leaving the running shoes by the door, he went straight for the bedroom and fell back into bed, where sleep finally took him in. 

\-----------------------------------

Startled out of sleep, gasping, Scully realized, that the wet and warm pressure against her mouth was just a dream. Sensation of tender flesh molding itself to her lips faded quickly, leaving her body deliciously limp. She felt herself wet and without thinking, reached down finished, what the dream only promised, a shudder of pleasure and sweet release, then fell back asleep. It wasn't the first time, it sure wouldn't be the last. That night his eyes were deep green with a hint of gold woven through the iris.

_Night brings counsel,_ as her grandmother used to say.  
When Scully woke up the next morning, her rebel streak won and she no longer felt mortified, but grinned, pulling the sheet over her head, laughing at the odds.  
Of all the crazy gifts Missy could come up with, and all the men she could choose from that list, she chose the one, she knew for years. The one night she tried to be adventurous, life threw her a curve ball, in form of Mulder, the escort.  
It couldn't be about money, if she could afford a reasonably comfortable living. Neither did she ever get the impression, that there was anything in Mulder's life, other than the X-files. Granted, they spent so much time working together, that they rarely felt the need to hang out after hours, but when she visited or called, he usually was home to let her in or pick up the phone. How did he manage to reconcile the unpredictable schedule and the amount of travel with his other... How should she call them, engagements? His other employer had to be very flexible.  
"Oh my God, what am I doing," she said to herself, "picking apart Mulder's erotic schedule."  
That train of thought felt a little too personal, no mater how close they were, so she pushed it away and got up, starting on coffee before heading into shower. Checking the answering machine on her way, she found no messages.

Sunday ritual usually filled her with energy, fueled by prospect of a day to herself, doing whatever she wanted, but today her mind kept wandering and wondering.  
The man at the agency said, that Mr. Fox came highly recommended, so he had to be working for them long enough to build a reputation, still she never noticed anything suspicious. There were perhaps days when he seemed more relaxed than his usual self; were those the days after? Was that what he got from it, instead of money? And more importantly, why didn't he go about it the way most single men did?  
Mulder was quite attractive, even she wasn't blind to it. He would have little to no trouble finding a date if he wanted one, but on the other hand, she knew him well enough to know, that superficial relationships weren't his thing. That's probably what puzzled her most. Why a man who trusted no one chose to offer himself to strangers in such an intimate way.  
The water began to grow cold, so throwing her head back, she made quick work of lathering her hair, rinsing it and stepping out of the shower, wrapped up in a towel.  
Steam covered the mirror and wiping it, she paused for a second to look at the woman on the other side of the glass.  
Even if staying in shape was a job requirement, she didn't feel unattractive, she liked herself, within her limits. She wasn't a willowy, runway beauty, but she had good tits, slim waist and a nice ass. Her usual pantsuits for work were a choice, and not designed to hide anything either. She wasn't there to prove herself as a female, but a professional, and if that required of her to follow dress code, she could live with that. She never tired to hide her femininity, wore skirts and indulged in lace lingerie if she felt like it, but she never stopped to think, how Mulder might feel about her, in those terms.  
Even if he was hiding his side job, assuming no one was forcing him to keep it a secret, last night he chose to see her and the implications scared her a little.  
She might think he was strictly professional about it, if not for that one last look he gave her, before leaving. The hurt she saw was honest and real. She rejected a man who knew and trusted her, and even if she understood that she wasn't obliged to do anything, their history made the hurt echo inside her. She might have said no to an escort, but she hurt a friend, and the thought was like a bucket of ice water.  
She dressed quickly, grabbed some toast and a cup of coffee and took out the file folder from her bag. They still had a flight scheduled for tomorrow morning, and the case should be above their private mess. Camping out on the sofa, with a blanket against the cold over her lap, Scully tried to focus on work, and it worked, until her thoughts wandered off again.  
She couldn't say yes, just like that. She couldn't just sleep with him, pretend he was a stranger. It was Mulder. What if it was lousy? What if it was good? What if it was fantastic? That made her lips twitch up a little. To be fair, she couldn't rule out any possibility. In any case, things would inevitably and irreversibly change. Heck, even the fact that she knew about the job, changed things. She always thought, Mulder was his work, now, he had a life she knew nothing about, and she had questions. Who was real, Mulder or Fox, for example.  
Stirring feelings made her restless, pacing the room from the couch to window, so she made herself stop and peer outside, just to break the cycle. She heard wind howling between bare branches, bending them almost mercilessly, yet unable not break them. The trees yielded, strong in knowledge that once the wind passed, they would most likely still be there.  
Guided by instinct, Scully opened the window and took a deep breath, accepting the cold, damp wisdom of nature. This was Mulder and before she decided anything, he deserved at least a chance to explain himself. After all, she wasn't a stranger to him, either.


	4. Chapter 4

Scully rushed through the crowd, muttering quick excuse-me's every two minutes, to people probably as late as she was.   
The city was against her, traffic, it's weapon of choice, today got mixed with bad weather and no parking spaces, to make her Monday a proper cliche.   
She saw a blue 4 in the distance and homed in on it, the crowd parting finally to reveal Mulder with a woman, carrying a small boy in her arms. He smiled and stepped back, letting her through, to take his place in line and there was only a handful of people waiting behind them.   
Her heart switched gears and started to beat two times faster. Mulder glanced around the crowd, tension written on his brow, but only until he spotted her rushing to his side.   
"Hi." His smiled was a little off, just enough for her to catch and recognize it as tension. "Stuck in traffic?"  
"Yeah, it's like Christmas all over again." She smiled back, doing her best to look casual as she patted down her hair.   
"No, just Monday," he countered, tension gradually easing from his posture. "I'm sorry about this," he said, handing her a ticket, "they didn't have two adjoining seats."  
"That's fine," she sighed, moving with the line, "as long as you didn't get bumped to business class."  
"No," he chuckled, their standing joke breaking the ice, "it's your turn this time."

Crowded flights were tiresome. Scully wanted to read the report again, but couldn't risk exposing the child sitting next to her to autopsy and crime scene photos. Instead she watched the boy play with his toys, racing them around the folding table and banging them together time and time again, not at all bothered by his mother's warnings and threats. She tuned them both out after a few cycles.   
She had the aisle seat, same as Mulder, and could see him sitting four rows up, legs stretched out, ankles crossed, one foot twitching, probably in time with music from his earbuds. She was right, to move past the awkwardness, they both got humiliated enough. If they were sitting together right now, relief would roll off him like warm sunshine, talking about Sasquatch sightings as if he was an autograph hunter trying to catch his favorite star. He was still Mulder, still her friend and even his questionable pass-times couldn't push her away. All she wanted to know, was why.   
"Oh Mulder," she thought to herself, "you keep unfolding like a flower."   
She recalled the cautious tenderness, his hands framing her face, reaching for the most human parts of her. She pushed back when he did it the first time, when her father died, and when she wanted to work again after her abduction, but what if she didn't? She didn't have to prove anything to Mulder anymore. What would it be like, to have those hands for herself? She had dreams about him, always attributing it to the amount of time they spend together, but what if her body was trying to tell her something, what if she let herself walk down that path one more time. After all, Mulder was closer to her than Jack ever was.  
Mulder stirred as if hearing her thoughts, shifting in his narrow seat and taking a moment to look around the cabin. Their eyes met and he winked at her, smiling warmly. Two more hours till landing. 

"Is that snow?" She said, stepping out of the car and reaching out one hand, tiny white star landing on black leather glove.   
"It's January in Wisconsin." Mulder shrugged and headed for the Sheriff's station. 

The Sheriff strongly advised against heading into forest after dark. They expected the weather to change dramatically and with the attacks they couldn't guarantee anyone's safety. Mulder wanted to go, but she convinced him to stay and go through the documentation instead, while she headed to the coroners office to take a look at the body.   
"I'll pick you up on my way back," she said, taking the car keys he offered.   
"I'll see if they had similar cases before, the legends had to come from somewhere."   
"Okay, I should be done by 6 or 7 pm."  
"There's a diner on the way to the motel, we can eat there before we check in."   
"Sounds like a plan," she said, putting her coat on and taking the map, the Sheriff drew for her. 

In the end, they reached the motel around 11.   
"Yes, I have your reservation," the kid said looking through his calendar, "we had two rooms booked for you, but some guests complained about the cold this morning. We checked all the rooms, and it turned out, that thermostats in half of them broke down and we can't get them fixed before Thursday."   
"Is there any other motel in town?" Mulder asked, trying to contain his frustration. Perfect, first the thing this weekend, now this. Has someone cursed them? He wasn't exactly superstitious, but if things came in threes, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what's coming.   
"Yes, but the people who left went there, and they have no room left there either."   
"Is it singles or double?" Scully asked suddenly, perfectly calm.  
"Two singles, ma'am," he said quickly, "I'm very sorry about this, this is my parents' place, but they are out of town and left me in charge for the first time and..."  
"We'll take it," she said in a tone that said she's too tired to listen to excuses.   
"Thank you," he sighed and turned the guest book so they could sign in. 

Two inches of fresh snow crunched happily on their way to the door. The town felt as if someone came in and turned the volume down. What started as a few single stars now turned into heavy petals, falling slowly but steadily to the ground.   
"I don't like this snow," Scully said, looking around as Mulder struggled with the lock a few seconds too long.   
"It isn't that bad," he said, jiggling the key a little, trying to make it turn. "What's wrong with this thing?"  
"Let me."   
Pushing his hands aside and stepping in front of him, she did the same thing as he had, only for her, the lock gave on second try.   
"Ta-daa," she smiled over one shoulder, and realized, that her back was pressed against his front. "Let's get out of this cold," she said, pushing the doors open.   
"What cold?" Mulder muttered, but she was already gone. 

The kid didn't lie, the room was toasty warm, two beds, a tv, typical setup, one they saw many times.   
She took the shower first, leaving enough hot water for him, if he didn't take long. The tv was turned on, low voices caught her attention and stoping for a moment, she recognized Doris Day and Thelma Ritter, arguing in the kitchen. It was Pillow Talk.   
"What am I missing?" Doris asked, playing a successful decorator with a boring taste in men.  
"When you have to ask, believe me, you're missin' it." Thelma replied, chuckling. Scully rolled her eyes then turned the tv off. 

They lay in silence, in the not-quite-darkness. Snow reflecting even the tiniest light blurred edges and lines, making words come easier, than they would in bright sunshine. Scully spoke softly, half hoping he would ignore her, pretending to be asleep.  
"Mulder?" Silence, the watch ticking on her night stand counted 6 seconds, 7, then a grunt came from her right. Biting the bullet, she asked.   
"Why do you do it?"   
"Do what?"   
"You know, the escort service."   
"Scully," he sighed, the sheets rustled, bed creaked.   
"I'm trying to wrap my head around it."   
"And?"  
"Nothing," she said placatingly, sensing a wall just underneath his tone, "I'm just curious."  
He sighed once more, heavier, a decision being made.   
"This will sound crude, but I like it."   
"You like having casual sex with strangers and being paid for it? You're such a guy."  
"You're judging."  
"Explain it to me then." She couldn't stop her voice from rising, maybe it was the catholic upbringing.   
"It's my life and I don't need your approval." He barked defiantly, and she heard him turning his back on her, shutting her out. It stung, more than a little.   
Silence stretched, one could almost hear the snowflakes landing on the windowpane.  
"I'm sorry," she sighed, before he slipped away completely. "Mulder?"   
"It's okay," he said into the darkness, "let's forget about it."   
But there was no going back for her. She got up, crossed the four feet of carpet and sat on the edge of his bed. Mulder didn't flinch when the mattress dipped under her weight.   
"I can't," she said softly, resting one hand on his arm. "I'm your friend, we may not always agree, but we never kept secrets from each other, or so I thought, until..."  
"Scully, I'm a male escort, it's not something you bring up in casual conversation." He didn't look at her, but there was no sting in his tone this time. He held a black belt in self-deprecation. "How was your weekend? My cock is still sore."   
"Is it?" She smirked, jostling him slightly, teasing.   
"You're my doctor," he said, humor slowly returning. He looked at her over one shoulder, "you know I'm clean."   
"I know." She dared to ask again. "So, you like it."   
"You're looking at it in wrong terms," he sighed, finally rolling onto his back, but still avoiding her gaze, "from girls completely dependent on their pimp on one end, to exclusive call girls, on the other. You hear escort service and see hands up very short skirts." He spoke slowly, carefully choosing each word. "What I do, is quite different."  
"How?"  
"I offer comfort. Women who seek out such services are very much like you, really." She managed to reduce the skeptical remark to a tiny snort. "Strong, independent, busy women, often in position of power, who might see the dating game as too tiring, too unpredictable, too much effort for potentially poor results."  
"That's cold."  
"Maybe, a little, but this is where services like ours come in. These women know what they want, and aren't afraid to ask for it, and what they get in return is discretion without any strings attached. No nagging phone calls, no awkward encounters after, no lousy sex causing dangerous gossip."  
"Why not just buy a vibrator, or take a hot bath, use your hands." Her openness made him smile.   
"Sure, but for some, it's not enough. It's role-play, whether it's about escaping into a kinky fantasy or simply sharing some affection."  
"But it's a lie," she insisted, unconvinced.  
"Is it?" Scully could feel him shift, tugging at sheets as he sat up. A faint glow reflecting from the snow was the only light, but she could see his face, open and calm. "C'mere." He said, scooting closer, sheets bunching up between them.   
"What are you doing?"   
"Proving a point." He touched her arms lightly, drawing her in, "I won't try anything, I promise."  
Some reflex made her reach for him, and next thing she knew, Mulder's arms were around her. Solid but gentle, her cheek on his shoulder, warm skin just beneath cotton t-shirt, large palm slowly stroked her back as he held her in a simple hug. She could smell him, clean and masculine and familiar.  
"Don't think about it," he said, and she leaned on him, letting him take her weight. "Nothing can replace another human's touch," he whispered, setting a steady rhythm with his hand, "no sex toy, no bath salts. Even if I don't stay around to be there, when they wake up, I care, and they care back. That's what I like," he leaned into her a little, gathering her closer, acceptance and simple want. "This feels nice, doesn't it?" He said, holding on, his fears for their future melting with each second she didn’t pull away.   
Scully could feel her own tension ease with each stroke of his hand, contact pushing out nagging thoughts, and not just about this one thing, all her troubles fades into background. It really felt like a warm bath after a long day.   
"May I?" he whispered.   
Gentle swell and fall of his breath felt almost hypnotizing and she nodded without thinking. One arm vanished, but only for long enough to push away the covers before he leaned back, pulling her down with him.   
"Try to sleep," he said settling in, falling into pits and lands of the mattress, as if it was made for him, just as his side and shoulder were made for her. The hand around her picked up where it finished and a sense of calm washed slowly over her, a sweet drug making her limbs and eyelids heavy. 

She woke up sometime in the night, orange glow outside seemed daytime bright, but it was 3 am and she could see Mulder’s hand, dangling limply over the edge of the bed from the arm that pillowed her head, the other one rested draped loosely around her. He was a warm, solid presence and he didn’t even need to hold her, for it to feel like she belonged there. Closing her eyes, she let sleep take her back, leaning against his chest and feeling him shift with her.


	5. Chapter 5

Morning found her in Mulder's bed, alone though the memory remained, woven through muscles and calm thoughts. It actually took a few seconds to remember that it was Tuesday, on a case, in Wisconsin, and judging by the light filtering through the blinds, it was well past 8 am. She took a second to reach out farther than the warmth of sheets and scent of fresh coffee, to hear a scraping noise outside. She counted two sources, measured but out of sync, joined by familiar laughter.   
Now that she knew Mulder wasn't far, she got up, splashed her face with some water and poured herself a cup of coffee. The pot was full but the mugs were cleaned, who said Mulder didn't know how to be considerate.   
Pulling up the blinds she peered outside. She might say, that the parking turned into a winter wonderland, if it didn't mean, that they were basically snowed in. Judging by the wheels of their Ford, parked just outside, snow had to be 8 to 10 inches deep. Mulder was helping the desk clerk clear it away, hence the scraping and laughing.   
She knocked lightly on the glass, making him turn and grin at her. Snow reached as far as his knees, as he came closer, retracing his steps. They came ready for snow, but she silently hoped that wouldn't be the case.   
Mulder stomped his boots on the already cleared path, but instead of coming in, he stopped on the other side of the window. He breathed on the glass, making it fog and wrote "Hi," in capital letters, backwards. Scully laughed and he grinned at her, pleased with himself. She could see him panting slightly, cheeks flushed with exertion, but his humor almost radiated warmth through the glass.   
"We're trying to dig us out." He said, raising his voice a little, so that she could hear him without opening the window. "Should be another half an hour."  
"And the road?"  
"Tony says they should have it cleared by now, we just need to take care of this part."  
She nodded, smiling over the edge of the mug, making it clear, that it was nice and warm inside. Holding his gaze she took a sip, wrapping her hands around the porcelain and something about it made him laugh.   
"Save something for me," he said, walking away, back to where he left his shovel.   
Scully watched them work for a few minutes longer, then went to get dressed for yet another, nice trip to the forest. 

"What do you expect to find?" They were climbing for over twenty minutes now. The cover of branches above made snow only ankle deep on the ground, but it was slippery and she had to mind every step, even with Mulder walking ahead, clearing the path. "Whatever tracks there were left, got covered by the snow."   
"Old tracks, yes, but who says we won't find new ones, now that the snow is fresh."   
"And how exactly would you recognize fairy tracks?"  
"By residual pixie dust, obviously," he chuckled, then turned serious. "I just wanna see the place, Scully. The search party probably did enough damage, that we wouldn't find anything regardless of the snow, but maybe the thing that took that guy came back."  
"Not a thing Mulder, a person, human," she said defiantly. Then suddenly, snow gave under her foot and she slipped, falling on all fours into the snow with a surprised yelp. Mulder was there in an instant, helping her up.  
"You okay?" He asked, brushing away snow from her jeans and jacket and doing poor job of hiding a smile. "This is what happens, when you don't..."   
"Don't say it," she warned, dusting of her gloves.   
"Watch your step." He smirked, keeping the fairy comment to himself, and started to climb again. "Hikers found the victim in a clearing, three days after he was reported missing. dead of exposure, obviously."  
"Which he did," she said, taking Mulder's hand to climb over a particularly large, fallen tree. "There was nothing missed in the postmortem, I examined the body and that would be my conclusion as well."  
"I can't argue with the cause of death," he said, hands reached out in case she slipped while jumping down, "only the reasons why he was in the forest in the first place. A kid born and raise around these parts, his father a lumberjack, who knew these woods like the back of his hand."  
"You suspect alien activity?" She asked, cautiously stepping over one of the smaller branches. "There were no marks on the body, in case you're thinking about Oregon."  
"No, it wasn't another Billy Miles, but you're in the right ballpark." He took point again, looking around the white covered forest. "People living in these parts are mostly descendants of german and dutch settlers, and part of the folklore that came with them are fairies, luring travelers of the beaten paths and causing general mischief."  
"And what proof do you have of that?"  
"This isn't the first case of a disappearance, ending with a body in the forest, carrying no signs of struggle or wounds of any kind."   
As he kept talking, the ground evened, forest thinned and the path opened to a wide clearing. They stopped on the edge and in that moment, sun came out, making every tree and branch, glisten blue and yellow and white. The view was breathtaking.   
"Welcome to Winter Wonderland, Scully." He said quietly, as if speaking too loud would break the spell and make the place disappear.  
"Postcard perfect," she agreed, in awe, but the beauty lasted only a few seconds. Clouds covered the the sun, taking the magic right with it.  
"You take the left side, I take the right and we meet on the other side?"  
"I still think we won't find anything," she declared, pulling the hat over her ears.  
"But just in case, holler, if you do." Mulder said and turned to his right.   
"You too."   
They parted ways as the sun started on a path towards sunset. 

Virginal snow covered trees, as far as the eye could see, making the silence around her almost overwhelming. Every breath sounded like panting, or maybe she was panting. Her muscles were beginning to burn with the effort of fighting the drift and slippery slope they had to climb to get here.   
She didn't know what to look for or what Mulder was hoping to find, but she kept her eyes peeled for anything that might look out of place. The only problem was, that she was right. There was nothing nothing to find except for snow, no tracks, no sounds, no weird auras. Only white dust covering every bough and branch.   
She probably made it half way around her side of the circle, before she saw it, movement in the corner of her eye. Something white lurking in the shadows, following in her footsteps. Scully stopped and scanned the forest, listening to silence, and as her focus grew, the stillness came alive. Minute twitches of bare twigs, tiny bits of snow blown away by breaths of wind, and there it was again. A speck of black where she expected pure white, bobbed, shadows shifting around it, blink and she'd miss it. Faint echo whispered through the wind, like a tap on her shoulder, making her turn. She risked a glance over one shoulder, expecting to find light, but the clearing was gone. The forest was thick around her, trapping her in a pocket of silence. A disembodied voice whispered her name, clearer, closer. And then she saw it, a white fox, crouched between the trees, his head close to the ground, moss green eyes staring at her intently. The moment she met his gaze, she heard the voice a third time, as clear and echoless and familiar, as if the lips were an inch away from her ear.  
"Scully!"   
The fox ran, sprinting away, deep into the forest, nimble as if hungry wolves were upon him. She didn't think, something in the ghostly tone sent her heart racing and she followed, as fast as she could. Light changed from gray to blue to pale yellow, tinged with red. Fear rose in her chest as she tried to not lose the white shadow. Sunset.   
"Mulder!" She called, hoping for an answer, that did not come. "Mulder!" The fox ran ahead, veering around trees and jumping over debris. She prayed to God there was no hole waiting to open beneath her, waiting to make her fall or break her ankle. Something was terribly wrong.   
Gathering all air in her lungs, she yelled a third time, "Mulder!"  
Light faded quickly but she saw something, a dark shape in the distance, something that didn't belong. Fifteen yards more and she was on her knees, checking his vitals, searching for injuries. His skin was terrifyingly cold, lips turning blue.  
"Mulder, wake up!" She panted, frantic, his pulse was sickeningly slow. "C'mon, wake up!" His clothes were soaked, he must have been lying unconscious for a while. Gathering him in her arms, she tore off her gloves, pressing warm hands to his cheeks and her body to his, trying to feel his breath on her lips, in case it stopped. Slow warmth kept coming and he stirred after a minute. She almost sobbed with relief.   
"Don't do this to me," she breathed, hiding him in her warmth as much as she could, trying to rub some of it into his long limbs.   
She looked around, the clearing was only a few yards away. The fox was gone. 

Somehow she managed to lead him back down the hill and into the car. Peeling the wet jacket and turning the heating all the way up, she took him to the clinic in town, wrapped in thermal blanket she found in a medical kit in the trunk.   
"There's no sign of any trauma, no concussion," she said looking through his chart, as Mulder shivered under three blankets, trying to sip hot tea through a straw. "It could be neurological, but they don't have a MRI here, we'd have to take you to the hospital in Madison for that."  
"I feel fine," she mumbled through chattering teeth.   
"Mulder, you almost froze to death."  
He took a deep breath and tried to control the spasms.   
"I still have," he paused, breathing in again, steadier, "all of my toes and fingers." His voice was raw, but he finally managed to sound calm. "Get me out of here, Scully."  
"Mulder," she sighed and glanced at the chart again, it still held no answers.   
"Please? Our motel is just a mile away."   
She might as well, there was really nothing more the clinic could do, and with all the snow, they had enough trouble dealing with broken bones and twisted ankles.  
"Okay, but you will do as you're told." She said putting away his chart, resigned, "I'll talk to your doctor and then find you some clothes." 

She asked Tony for additional blankets and towels, then made Mulder take another hot shower.   
"I'm all pruned up," he said looking at his hands as he came out of the bathroom.   
"Good to see your sense of humor didn't suffer." She smiled, throwing extra blankets over his sheets, it was well past 11. "Come to bed," she said casually, making him grin.   
"I thought you'd never ask." He snickered, sauntering over, but not as much to tease her, as because his muscles ached.  
"We had a deal," she said firmly, turning down the covers.  
"Yeah, yeah." He behaved like a kid, but it was an act, they both knew it was a close one.   
Scully tucked him in, and went to take a quick shower of her own, to wash away all the fear and sweat. Mulder left some hot water for her, for which she was grateful. She wore a tank top under her pj's for layers and brushed her teeth, feeling sleep creep in with the sand under her eyelids.   
She turned off the lights and climbed into her own, cold bed.   
"Goodnight Mulder," she sighed, wishing she'd put on some socks, but feeling too tired to get up to get them.   
"Scully." He said, just as she started to drift off.  
"What's wrong?" She mumbled.  
"I'm cold."   
"Still?"  
"Yeah," he wasn't trying to be cute, she knew that tone and this wasn't it. "I can't stop shaking."   
"It's your muscles building heat, try to relax."   
"I tried," bed creaked as he burrower deeper under the covers. "It's not working."   
She lifted herself on one elbow to see him better, the light was coming in orange, just as the night before. "You want to go back to the clinic?"   
"No," he protested weakly, "anything but that."   
Scully got up and went to check on him, resting the back of her hand on his forehead.   
"You're still a bit cool." Mulder leaned into her hand as she cupped his cheek.   
"And you're so warm," he said quietly. She could feel him tremble beneath all the blankets, he wasn't acting. "Could you stay here?" Her eyebrows shot up, so he added quickly, "just for a few minutes. Please?"  
"Fine," she sighed, too tired to fight.   
He lifted the covers, so that she could climb in and the moment her head touched the pillow, he drew her in, wrapping himself around her like a vine. He was shivering, his skin definitely cooler than hers. Pulling the covers around them, she rubbed his back lightly, as much to warm as to soothe and it took a good few minutes, but with his head pillowed on her breast and her arms around him, Mulder finally began to relax.   
"So warm," he mumbled almost incoherently, shivers fading as his body grew heavier with sleep by the minute.   
"Shhh, rest," she whispered, brushing her lips over his forehead and letting his weight pull her under. She didn't mind at all, when sleep took them both.  
That night she dreamed of white foxes with green-gold eyes, running away from her through snow covered forest.


	6. Chapter 6

Nature woke Mulder up sometime in the night, feeling toasty warm and comfortable. Minus the clogged nose. Judging by his chapped lips and dry mouth, it had been like this for a while. Taking stock of himself, he counted ten fingers, ten toes, all alive and flexible, but the number of limbs didn't match, delightfully so. Scully slept cuddled into his back, one arm draped around his waist, fingers tickling exposed skin of his stomach with each breath. That alone was the best medicine he could imagine, but still, nature called.  
He ached, everywhere, his back and legs felt doused in lead, neck made of twigs, and on top of that, he couldn’t breathe. He felt like hell, and knew, that this time he won’t have the luxury of sleeping through it, as he did last time, in Alaska. _The last time I almost died of hypothermia,_ he thought sourly, flushing the toilet. He washed his hands and took a few sips of lukewarm water from the tap while at it, avoiding looking in the mirror.  
Scully slept peacefully, still curled up on her side, in his bed. This is what his life should look like, white sheets and a warm body to share them with. And not just any body, her body. The sight was heartwarming, but once she reached out, hand searching for something she was missing, it graduated to irresistible. He lifted the covers just enough to slip back in, but the jostle made her stir. The searching arm found him and she made a tiny sound, neither a name nor a question, but he got it anyway, pulling her closer, sleep-warmed and midnight-soft.  
“It’s okay, sleep," he whispered and she relaxed, snuggling into his arms and tangling her limbs with his, turning the heat back up to 98 degrees. Mulder closed his eyes and promptly fell into dreamless sleep, breathing through his mouth, snoring softly. 

It was the second time, when she woke up, using Mulder's arm for a pillow. Leaning her back against his side, she felt her foot trapped between his calves. He kept her warm which was something of a revelation, since she usually ran cold. Lifting herself on one elbow, she looked around the room, then over her shoulder, to see Mulder, already awake and watching her, his other arm pillowing his head.  
"Hi," he said softy, something different about his eyes caught her attention.  
"Hi," she smiled, turning to her front, propped up on her elbows to see him. "How are you feeling."  
"Better," he said, sounding a bit nasal.  
"Can't breath?" He nodded and she reached to her night stand for a packet of Kleenex. "Small price."  
He took one and blew his nose, loud and long, then sent the tissue into the trashcan, standing 6 feet away by the door.  
"Can I keep this?" He asked, taking a deep, but still a little wheezing breath.  
"Sure." Usually she'd send him to wash his hands, but since they slept together there was no point really. If it was contagious, she probably already had it, as well. She glanced at her watch, it read 8:30. Apparently, sleeping with Mulder meant sleeping in.  
"You should take it easy today." She said, making no move to get up herself, either.  
"I want to talk to the Sheriff, maybe gather a search party and go back to that clearing."  
"Back?“ She sounded appalled. “Mulder, there was nothing there!"  
"How can you say that? You saw what happened, what if that same thing happened to," he didn't finish. Nasty cough caught him by the chest, stealing his breath for a long moment.  
Scully watched him try to catch a breath, worried she missed something at the clinic, earlier. The moment the fit passed, she checked his temperature then, leaning over, pressed her ear to his chest, trying to listen. His arm was immediately around her, drawing her closer, as if he was physically incapable of pushing her away.  
"Scully," he chuckled, gently petting her hair, "c'mon, even I know it doesn't work this way."  
"Stop talking," she said, moving a little to the side, then a few inches down. He didn't fight her, it felt all sorts of nice. Finally, she looked up, only a little calmer.  
"Am I fit for active duty, doc?" He asked, smiling, his arm around her all the while.  
"Not even close, but I'd rather not have you ditch me, and run off on your own in this condition."  
"Who, me?" He had the audacity to sound wounded and that in turn, made her laugh.  
"I agree we should talk to the Sheriff, and then go from there." She said, pretending not to notice the hand on the small of her back. "Maybe they found something, we don't know about."  
"Okay."

They left the diner after breakfast and Mulder pulled her to the other side of the street, heading for the drugstore.  
"I still think we should go back," he said holding the doors for her.  
"The man got lost in the forest, in the dead of winter and died of exposure." She said, following Mulder as he searched for the tissue aisle. "For the Sheriff's office, the case is as good as closed, they're releasing the body to the family this afternoon."  
She watched him look around the shelf and pick up a 6-pack of plain pocket tissues.  
"Even if it was fairies, that lured him there," she continued as he moved on, "can't we come back once the snow is gone?"  
"We should do that too," he said, stopping in front of a shelf, stocking nasal drops and sprays, "but what if this is a time specific phenomenon." He picked a blue box and held it up for approval.  
"Not this one," she put it back and chose an orange one, instead.  
"I looked through missing person reports from the past few years, and they all happened around Christmas. What if we miss some detail that's tied to the season," he said, heading for the checkout counter. "We need more manpower and that will take time, but if we go back now, with a smaller party," he smiled at the girl on the other side, and she looked away shyly, ringing in his basic cold survival kit, "we might have a better chance to stop these things from happening."  
Scully knew a lost battle when she saw one.  
"Alright, let's go talk to the Sheriff then." 

In the end, the victim's family found a suicide note. Their coming here was already a stretch and Mulder seemed to deflate, once he heard the news. His theory tying a string of disappearances that happened over the last three years, with supernatural involvement, fell into pieces. Too much time had past, and no one wanted to open old wounds once again.  
They filed their reports, packed their bags and went home. Silence in the car was interrupted only by Mulder's runny nose and an occasional cough. 

"How are you doing?" Scully asked, watching him wince as nose spray filled his nostril.  
"I've been better." He tried not to sound bitter, it wasn't her fault, not the case, nor the cold. She pressed one hand to his forehead for a second, frowned, sighed, and knowing he was a terrible patient, tried not to push too much.  
"Try not to overdose these," she said sitting back. Lights telling the passengers to fasten their seatbelts blinked on. "You'll get a nosebleed."  
"I won't."  
Pulling the jacket closer around himself, he let go, focusing on pure bliss of breathing freely, while ignoring the chills creeping through his already sore body. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe Scully was right, maybe snow did hate them.  
Waking up sometime later, he realized that someone took care to make him toasty and warm, again. Plain, scratchy, blue blanket never felt this good. Maybe it was because Scully's head was resting on his shoulder, warmth of her side adding to the overall pleasantness. He didn't even mind the stiff neck of the clogged nose. Scully got a blanket to herself as well, and was sleeping peacefully beside him. Glancing out the window, he took a chance and lightly pressed his lips to the crown of her head. It snowed over Michigan.  
What exactly happened in that forest and how long was he unconscious, it couldn't be more than what, half an hour? He was dressed for the weather too, he shouldn't loose all that body heat so fast. All he could remember was them splitting up and somehow, losing the clearing from his line of sight. He tried to find it again, retracing his steps, but it was as if the tracks were running in a circle. He tried calling out, running back the way he came, and then nothing, until her warm hands broke through the crippling cold.  
"How did you find me?" He whispered, kissing the top of her head again then resting his cheek lightly against it. If she hadn't found him, he'd be an icicle instead of a sniffling and coughing mess. She saved him.  
A passing flight attendant caught his eye and leaning over, quietly asked if they needed anything. He didn't. Until Scully woke up, he could pretend that he had everything he wanted, cuddled against his side in a stuffy cabin of a plane, on it's way back to D.C.

Doors to the terminal closed behind them and they realized, that the snow followed them all the way back from Wisconsin.  
"You sure you don't want me to take you home?" Scully asked drawing the coat closer around herself.  
"What?" His muddled brain somehow translated home as her home. "Oh, no, it's okay, don't worry about me."  
"Alright," she shrugged, hands pushed inside the pockets of her caramel coat, "take some aspirin before sleep, for the cold."  
"Okay," he chuckled warmly, stopping a cab that rolled to the curb.  
"And call me if you need anything." she added quickly.  
_Even you?_ He thought, hiding the idea behind a smile. The cabby was the impatient type. "I will, see you tomorrow, Scully." 

"I'm an idiot." Mulder sighed, leaning against the door to his apartment. His palms throbbed and burned while the rest of his body shivered with fever. Classic case of cold, from the sweat on his forehead to his aching legs. Oh, and he left a window open before he left.  
Dropping the bag where he stood, he went to close it and turn the heating all the way up. The fish had their own heater, but a day or two longer and they probably wouldn't survive either. He dumped some fish food into the tank and went to find some human food, before taking the meds. He might be an idiot, but he wasn't a fool.  
With some noodle soup warming on the stove, he pulled on the thickest socks and the warmest sweatshirt he owned. Nose spray was beginning to wear off, but the cough was still bearable, a small mercy he was grateful for. He just had to stay up to get this done, then he could burrow under a blanket and sleep till March, or until the rhinitis passed, whichever came first. 

He ate the soup sitting on the kitchen table, his mind wandering off to Scully. She should be home by now, her place cozy and warm. He remembered seeing the Christmas tree still dressed, so she probably had the lights on that turned on, too, she liked the mood.  
Rinsing the mug, he left it the sink, leaving more thorough cleaning for another time. The aspirin was almost expired, but he washed down two with a glass of water then filled it again. History taught, that once the meds kick in, he'd be out in seconds with no one to bring him a drink if he needed it. Turning the tv on out of pure habit, he pulled the blanket tightly around himself, waiting for the chills to pass.  
It wasn't ten minutes before the phone rang.  
"Mulder," he mumbled, smiling.  
"Hey man." The smile faded as quickly as it appeared. "I've got Madam Secretary on hold, you available?"  
Mulder didn't need to fake the cough. "Sorry, nasty cold, I won't make it."  
"Oh, okay," keyboard clicked in the background, "I've flagged you for a week, let me know once you're ready to come back."  
"Thanks."  
"And Mulder, you should have that checked out."  
"I already had."  
"Good, take care man."  
"Always."  
He hung up without guilt, Bear knew how to handle such things. He was good people, caring about staff as much as his clients. Everyone was clean, tested regularly and kept things safe, without exceptions. It was smart, business-like.  
The chills were slowly fading and making room for thoughts.  
He really dodged a bullet with Scully, being such a good sport about the escort thing. He expected anything, from revulsion to ridicule, but as always, she surprised him. To get two nights next to her, waking up together so intimately, was better than anything could ever imagine. Sleep tousled Scully arguing with him about the case, was probably the sexiest thing ever. No, scratch that, Scully in his bed, unconsciously reaching for him? Or maybe the feeling of her leaning against his body, a little spoon, warm and tiny, sleeping soundly in his arms. If he could hold her like that, one more time.  
_All the time,_ he thought, trying to recall the feeling of her warmth, but the aspirin took over, knocking him out cold. 

He knew ha was naked, and that he was cold, but it wasn't a physical chill, something inside him was missing and he felt that absence like a shard of ice stuck in his chest, never melting, never fading. Loneliness. Until she came, a soft brush of hand on his cheek at first, a shadow passing through the overwhelming whiteness behind his eyelids. Then a gentle weight, warmth radiating up and down his body, starting at his hips. Tender kisses bushing his skin; his side, his chest, nipple flicked, turning warmth into heat, soothed only by the brightness above him. Still the touch remains gentle, hands patient and demanding patience. They slide up this sides, framing the pleasure, but he can't touch her, his limbs remain frozen. She reaches his shoulders, fingers cares the nape of his neck as she tastes his Adam's apple, tilting his head back. He can feel her, cool pebbles of nipples brushing his chest each time he breaths in, her hips rocking, gently, slowly, constantly building the fire. She's torture, she's bliss, but then her lips touch his and he opens his eyes... to nothing. Nothing but open skies.  
Mulder woke up as if kicked, a sleep twitch.Hair stuck with sweat to his forehead and his cock painfully hard, throbbing somewhere south of his racing heart. He gripped himself firmly and closed his eyes, holding on to an echo of a whisper, his name tumbling of Scully's mouth.  
The fever broke an through the rest of the night, he slept like a log.


	7. Chapter 7

She sat on the edge of his coffee table and checked his temperature, still warm, but not alarming. Mulder stirred, chasing her touch as she tried to take away her hand, and she couldn’t resist smoothing out his hair, watching his eyes blink open.   
"Hey, how are you feeling?"  
His first try failed, so she handed him the glass of water. Mulder took a small sip and coughed, cold shocking his throat.   
"What time is it?" He asked, trying to get his bearings.   
"11 am."   
"Oh sh..." He sat up and swooned, but she caught him, before he fell off the couch.   
"Easy, easy." She set the glass back on the table and tucked the blanket around him. "You're not going anywhere."  
He rubbed his face, stubble rasping, too weak to fight her, apparently. "And you?"  
"I figured something like this might happen, so I brought you some food, you should take the day off. I'm going back, I've got some things I need to finish."  
"Okay."   
"There's soup and sandwiches, and I brought you these." She produced a box of tissues, the kind that's soft but solid. Mulder grinned, as she held it out.  
"You're a life saver." He took one and blew, loud, long and vaguely disgusting. Scully caught a glimpse of pink.   
"I told you, you'll get a nosebleed."  
“When my other option is suffocating, I’ll take it.”   
The image of his motionless body came unbidden and she forced it back. "Don’t joke like that,” she said softly.   
Mulder gingerly rolled onto his side and sat up, ending up two inches from her face. Eyes glassy and nose red, but smiling. For a second he looked lost, wandering over her features, before their eyes met, making her cheeks warm. If she had to chose between him sniffling and grumpy or frozen to death, she too, knew what she’d take.   
“You want me to drop by later?”  
“I think I’ll manage.”  
“Okay."  
Patting his knee through the blanket, she got up. Mulder followed, leaning on the wall as she put on her coat. “Call me if you start feeling worse."   
“I will.” He promised.  
She could sense his eyes on her back, all the way to the elevator. 

A moment later, Mulder was looking through grocery bags she left on the kitchen table. The pastrami sandwich was his favourite, there were oranges too, fresh and some juice. The last bag held two Tupperware containers, the kind you use to freeze leftovers. The larger one had a screw-on lid and its’ contents was sloshing. Soup. The broth looked home-made, she must have made it herself, and there were noodles in the other box as well.   
He found a spoon and tasted it. Even cold, it filled his mouth with richness of chicken and vegetables, just a tad too salty, the way he liked it. Seeing no point in waiting for lunch, he poured it into a pot, lit the burner and sat on the table, waiting for bubbles to come, grateful that the cold didn't entirely rob him off taste or smell. Scent of home cooking spread through the kitchen, making him ravenous.

The day dragged on.   
Without Mulder around she could focus, yes, but the office felt just a little too cold, too quiet. She went to the crime lab and stopped for a second to chat with Holly from records, but other than that, Scully tried to not think about Mulder. She had definitely too much time to think these days.   
She came home last night, with an image stuck in her head, of a woman waiting for him in his apartment, ready to care and soothe and share her day with him. She let it play like a movie in head head, trying to understand where the accompanying feeling of dread came from, exactly.   
The truth was, she didn’t usually think of him as a man, Mulder simply was. In the office sorting through files or arranging slides, on her answering machine with some last minute theory for her to consider as she cooked dinner for one. Mulder lived and breathed his work, to the point of seeming slightly obsessed and infecting her with that obsession over the years, as well. But now that she knew that it wasn’t all there was. If he was ready to take a job as an escort, why wouldn’t he one day find a woman.   
Swivelling back and forth in his office chair, she looked up to the pencils, hanging like stalactites from the cardboard above her head. One for what? One girl? One night?   
The phone rang, startling her out of that train of thought.   
“Scully.”  
“Hey, it’s me.” Mulder choked on the other end.   
“Hi, is everything okay?”   
“Yeah, thanks for the soup.” Stifled cough drowned out her 'you’re welcome', but he didn't give her a chance to repeat it, going straight to business. “I was thinking.”  
"When you're supposed to be resting?"  
"I'm multitasking."   
“Sure," she smiled to herself, humouring him, "what were you thinking about?"  
"Those previous reports of missing persons, were they filed on the same day?"  
"Hold on a second." She looked around the desk, until she found a legal pad with familiar scribbles, then scanned through it quickly. "Okay, I got it, yes, just before Christmas."  
"When?"  
"Missing on 24th, filed on 26."  
"Yule," he said as if to himself then shook it off. "Okay, thanks Scully."  
“Hold on, Mulder,” but the phone clicked, hung up.  
Scully considered calling back but decided not encouraging seemed wiser. What did he mean by Yule? The pagan festive season?   
She went to the backroom, where they kept all manner of books and reference texts.

It was late afternoon when the phone rang again. Scully reached for the receiver without looking away from “Pagan History Of Europe,” open in her lap.   
“Scully.”  
“Dana, it’s mom.” That made her pause.  
“Hi mom.”   
“Are you busy tonight?”  
“No, why?”   
“I made pie and Melissa is coming, maybe you could stop by too?” Scully stared at the photograph of a statue depicting three women, facing away from each other. Maiden, woman and crone, the triple goddess. “You think Fox could spare you for one evening?”   
“Why wouldn’t he?” She asked a little brusquely.  
“You two are always so busy,” Maggie said cautiously, “and even if, you could always bring him with you.”   
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Scully took a deep, calming breath.  
“I’ll be there around six,” then added, just to be clear, “alone.”  
“Alright, honey.” Maggie laughed, sensing her daughter’s embarrassment. “Give Fox my best.”  
There was no point in arguing. “I will, mom.”   
She hung up and looked at the picture again. Past, present and future holding hands. Pagan visions of feminism would have to wait. 

Missy caught her, the second their mother disappeared to make coffee.   
“You never told me, if you enjoyed my gift.”   
“And I won’t,” Scully said quietly, though she had a few question of her own. “What possessed you Missy, escort service?”  
“Sex is one of the most basic human needs, no need to be coy about it.”  
“Yes, but this?”   
Missy sighed not even trying to hide her exasperation.   
“Dana, you used the gift card, you should be happy, not embarrassed.”   
_If you only knew the whole story,_ Scully thought, thankful that everything about her sister’s behaviour told her, she didn’t know about Mulder. “So, what made you do it?”   
“The thing with the yoga instructor didn’t work out,” Melissa played with the sleeve of her sweater-dress, a tell Scully knew spelled discomfort, “he stopped answering my calls when I didn’t want to sleep with him, so I complained to Abby about how you have to put out to keep a guy interested and she told me that she’s done with that. If a guy can’t handle the wait, he’s not worth it.”  
“How very Sunday school of her.” Scully teased.   
“She told me about the escort service, and how they always,” Missy grinned, making air quotes with her fingers, “came through. She said she’s done with causal and now when she feels like she really needs sex, she calls them.”   
“So she doesn’t date?”  
“Oh she dates, but it’s more on her terms these days. She claims that men try harder when they have to fight for it. If not, she's not wasting her time.”   
“That’s really, practical.”   
“Dana, guys do this all the time. Think they can get laid fast and move on the the next one, no sentiment, and it’s not like it’s a permanent solution. Once she finds the right guy and the time is right for her, she will commit, but until then, she’s Ms. Rabbit. And apparently, it’s true what they say,” she leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper, “he can go all night.”   
“Really.” Scully’s eyebrow twitched skeptically and Missy held up four fingers. “No.”  
“Yes, and he charges by the night,” she added quietly, “as long as you’re good, he can go on as many times as you want.”   
“At a price.” Scully finished, realistic to a fault.   
“We live in an imperfect world," her sister agreed with a shrug. "So when I heard her story, I immediately thought of you, and how you’re all work and no play.” Scully looked away, not in the mood for the workaholic talk yet again. “Where’s Mulder, by the way?  
“He’s home, down with a cold,” Scully said, cutting into the pie, “and for the record, I love my job.”  
“I’m not saying you can’t,” Melissa said, taking the small plate with a large slice of homemade apple pie, “but you could love yourself a little too, every once in a while.” 

"Love myself," Scully huffed into her pillow, changing side for the up-tenth time, "I love myself plenty, thank you very much."   
She closed her eyes and tried to slow down her thoughts, then glanced at the phone, sitting on the night stand. Mulder still didn't call.   
Nothing stirred in the apartment, not even a drop of water from the kitchen faucet disturbed the silence. TV played in the apartment above her, a baby whimpered in the one below, faint sounds of life in the building sang her to sleep as she warmed and pulled the sheets close around herself and let her mind wander.   
She recalled the light pressure that came with arms around her, gentle rock of breath, the sound and warmth and feeling, and slowly, sleep filled her bones and thoughts with dreams, floating weightlessly, somewhere where she could almost hear him, whispering on wind.  
 _"Dream of me."_  
And she did.

She followed the white fox through snow-covered woods. His white fur shimmered in the sunlight filtering through branches, beautiful. He didn’t run, and she didn’t mean to catch, he was her guide.   
The calm all around her wasn't silent, a faint hum grew louder, the longer she followed. Listening closer it became a chorus of voices, busy like a beehive, buzzing with excitement. A shift in light to her left caught her eye. Trees changed into people rushing through hallways, binders and textbooks hugged tight in universal language of fresh starts. One girl stood out, a vivd spark among the shadows; smart blouse, no nonsense heels, red hair brushing shoulders with each step, carrying her with purpose.  
She saw herself, rushing to class on her first day at Quantico, determined, singleminded, focused. So much that she didn’t notice a tall, lanky figure in a dark suit, dead ahead, lost in a report he read while walking straight towards her. She knew the set of those shoulders, the long, easy stride, the lock of hair falling over the crease on his brow. She knew them now, her younger self did not. She veered to the right, barely brushing the man’s arm, walking on, lost in her own thoughts, unaware. He stopped, looking up from the page and after her, as if he caught a scent of something he liked. She knew that smile, the minute shake of his head and crunch of sunflower seed that echoed, even as the vision faded.   
The fox trotted ahead, deeper into the forest, and she recognised the path, walking without slipping, even if the snow was deeper than the last time. Her guide sprang nimbly over the fallen tree and she followed, climbing, rush mixing with dread over what she might find waiting. The forest thinned and the trail opened to a wide clearing.  
Long drive cut through a field of snow, leading to a house in the distance; dark, sloping roof, white paneling, high, wrap-around porch. There was a snowman guarding the stairs to the front door, twigs for arms and wire-rimmed glasses resting on a carrot nose. She couldn’t stop the tiny laugh, because it bore uncanny resemblance, to a certain Assistant Director with the FBI.   
Claws clicked on wood as the fox climbed the steps and laid down, head resting on his paws, calm, green-gold eyes watching her. He didn't run when she followed, slowly, one hand reached out. Three steps away, Scully dared to touch and as she petted his head, his eyes fell shut, asleep in an instant.   
"Why did you bring me here?" She whispered, and stepped around him to peek inside.   
It was a home, with a decent kitchen, some dishes in the sink, two mugs on the counter. She tried the screen doors, then the front, both opened soundlessly to a warm living room. Fire cracked and popped in the fireplace as she looked around, dark furniture, thick rugs, pictures and knick knacks. Open staircase lead upstairs, books stacked on steps as if they were shelves, then a light snore drew her attention to the sofa, facing the fire.   
A couple slept under a blanket, twined and comfortable with years of sharing couches. The man looked softer and greyer, features marked with time, but still unmistakable; Mulder. Scully glanced quickly to the woman beside him and warmth spread through her body. She looked slimmer and age made all her edges sharper, long, red hair tumbling over one shoulder seemed lighter. Time was kind to her features, but that was all she had time to register. Soft, blue eyes were staring back at her, over space and time and four feet of Persian carpet.   
Her older self smiled warmly, but the arm around her still sensed the shift, drawing her close, forever watchful, unconsciously protective. She brushed her lips over the hand tucked under her cheek, giving the fingers a reassuring squeeze and Scully felt him relax, as if somehow, his arms were around her too. Silent, loving, never apart.   
The fox sat down at her feet, pushing his head under her hand and licking her fingertips. She ran them through the soft fur, petting his ears lightly before they perked up suddenly.   
Footsteps came from above, a step creaked, then came a young voice.   
“Mom?”

Scully woke up with a start, the boy’s voice fading fast, along with memories of the crone's future and the maiden's past. The clock on her nightstand said 3:14 am.


	8. Chapter 8

Water washed down her face and hair, breast and back, rinsing off last remnants of the dream, and leaving her with nothing but scraped raw logic and reason. She read too much last night. All the Faeries, gods and spirits filtered through her subconscious, mixed with fresh memories and emotional unease, and created this vision, a figment of her imagination.  
She never actually met Mulder before she was assigned to work with him, but Quantico was a big place, with agents coming and going all the time, from all places. BSU, VCS, ISU, Mulder worked with all of them, and there was a good chance they passed each other in the hallway, just as she passed thousands of people, every day over the twenty one weeks in training or even later, when she was teaching. Maybe she wondered about it, or maybe they even discussed it, killing time on some long, boring stakeout. It probably did happen.  
The house on the other hand, troubled her more, slipping from memory the harder she tried to hold on. All she had left was the feeling of warmth, not just physical, but emotional. Safety of a place of her own.  
Wrapped in a warm bathrobe, with a towel piled on top of her head, she sipped coffee and looked around her brightly lit apartment. All light wood and pale blue, pinstriped furniture, books neatly arranged in a bookshelf; this was her home, spacious and comfortable. Yet the feeling of arms around her and the warmth of fire in the hearth, stirred something inside her, that she didn't quite understand. She was happy with her freedom and life in general, was she not?  
Mulder's words echoed in her head, as if whispered in the darkness.  
Dreams are answers to questions we haven't found out how to ask yet.  
Waving off the thought, she dressed and locked the doors, thankful, that it was finally Friday. 

She was about to take a sip of coffee, when Mulder came in, looking considerably better. Only evidence of his illness was the rare addition of a green scarf to his smile and the usual dark coat, dark suit, bad tie ensemble.  
"Hi." She said over the mug.  
"Hi yourself."  
He crossed the room in four long strides and rounded the desk, presenting her with a paper cup.  
"What's this?"  
"Triple, venti, half sweet, non-fat, caramel macchiato."  
She was smiling before he reached the half-sweet part. "You noticed."  
Mulder grinned and reached into his coat pocket, producing a small paper bag with a flourish, "and, a cookie."  
Scully laughed, popping the lid on her drink. "Keep it."  
"Thanks."  
It was what she always ordered, when felt like treating herself, including the chocolate chip cookie she got for Mulder.  
"How are you doing?"  
"Only slightly used," he said, going back to hang up his coat, "thanks for the soup."  
"You're welcome."  
"I owe you lunch," he added, taking her usual chair and accepting the coffee she didn't need anymore.  
"Coffee's fine." Scully watched him break the cookie in half, so they could share it, also part of the ritual. "What did you mean by Yule, yesterday I didn't have a chance to ask."  
"Some believe," he explained, reaching out and letting her pick the piece she liked, "that on the night that Christians celebrate as Christmas Eve, Anglo-Saxon and Germanic peoples used to celebrate Mother's Night or Mōdraniht."  
"An event dedicated to female deities, usually appearing in trios," she said, cookie half way to her mouth, filling in the gaps for him, "like Matres and Matronae."  
"Or like victims in our case. A pattern appearing often in many religions, not only in Europe, but here I'd focus mostly on the Scandinavian Norns, goddesses of fate."  
"Wyrd, Verdandi and Skuld, past, present and future."  
"Exactly," wiping crumbs with the side of his hand, he took a sip of coffee, before continuing. "Some believe, that sacrifices might have occurred during the event, possibly currying favour."  
"And you think that the dead body was part of some ritual?"  
Mulder shrugged, noncommittal. They both knew the statistics on murder and the occult.  
"If you know of any Wicca practitioners that suddenly became vampires, I'm all ears."  
Scully snorted and bit into the cookie, keeping the dream to herself.  
"Anyway, these are just loose theories, and since they found only one body this year and that suicide note."  
"We might have another year, before any new evidence shows up."  
"Not that I would wish that on anyone, but I guess, yeah."  
He washed down the rest of the cookie with coffee and smiled. "So, you did anything interesting last night?"  
"Nothing special," she said, but grinned suddenly, holding up one finger.  
"What?"  
Mulder watched her disappear into the backroom for a second, just to come back with another plastic box.  
"I was going to bring this to you later, but you're here, so." He took the box and opened it, smelling cinnamon and vanilla crust, apple pie. "My mom says hi."  
Without thinking twice, he drew her closer, sneaking one arm around her waist.  
"Thanks," he said softly and rested his cheek against her blazer.  
Scully stroked his hair, as the seconds stretched longer and longer, each one more comfortable than the last. She was growing used to his touch, shape and feeling of his arms. Something was shifting inside her, tipping scales of her inner balance, just a little off to where ever Mulder was. Combing fingers through his hair one last time, she realised they felt soft and silky smooth, exactly like her dream fox's fur. 

Having Mulder close, helped Scully focus a little more easily. He sniffled his way through the day with just an occasional cough shaking the office, as he sat by the desk going through books, just as she had the day before.  
Lunch hour came and went, lost among clicking of keyboards and rustle of pages.  
Finishing the case report and wrapping some overdue ones as well, Scully felt like she did an honest day's work, and was about to put away a few case files in the cabinet, when Mulder came in, unexpectedly. She never noticed him leave.  
"Did you know it's snowing again?" He said, combing fingers through damp hair.  
Looking up, she saw fine, white dust gathering in the corners of the skylights, where wind couldn't blow it out.  
Mulder pushed a salad it into her hands. "This isn't the lunch I promised, but let's take a break."  
"Thanks." Scully smiled and took a seat on her side of the desk. "You okay?" She asked, above the crackling of plastic.  
"Better." Mulder unwrapped his sandwich and bit into it, the scent of bacon hit her from five feet away.  
"You should eat more vegetables, you know," she admonished.  
"I see lettuce and tomatoes here," he mumbled, glancing at the sandwich, "those are still vegetables, right?"  
"You know what I mean." Scully sighed, but his witty reply was cut off by a chirping cellphone. Holding up one finger, he answered the call.  
"Mulder."  
Grunting affirmatives, he listened for a moment then scribbled a few words on a post-it. Cryptic, monosyllabic conversations weren't unusual, but something didn't sit right with Scully this time, telling her to add a new item to the list of possible unidentified callers. But he was sick, he shouldn't be working, that would be…  
"Okay, I'll be there." He finished and hung up, folding the post-it and putting it away with the phone, before going back to his late lunch. Halfway from another bite, he noticed her staring.  
"What?"  
"Nothing," Scully looked away, suddenly very interested in proper distribution of low fat dressing, "nothing."  
"Poker night with the Gunmen," Mulder said casually.  
Nodding, but unable to force herself to look up, awkwardness welled inside her against all reason. Irrational fears were just that, irrational, but why did she feel like he wasn't perfectly honest this time?

Large tub of ice cream landed in her cart when she did her customary Friday night grocery run. Some said that diamonds were a girl's best friends, but since she was on a mere g-woman's salary, she had to make do with second best. Who said she didn't love herself. She even planned to rent The Exorcist, to make the night perfectly perfect. Mulder had plans and so did she.  
Her only dilemma was, should she take a bath before or after the movie. She took a good few minutes at the store, trying to decide between another batch of good, old, lavender-vanilla and neroli-bergamot. Something about that sweet, citrus fragrance made her smile and she told herself not to think too much. Not about the bath, the ice cream or the movie, or the fact that she was going home to an empty house, on a snowy Friday evening, when even Mulder had plans.  
Plans, she wasn't at all suspicious about, plans that involved him, three guys and a deck of cards; probably some tacos as well. All the onions and chilli peppers, she felt beginnings of heartburn just thinking about them. The chilli peppers, not the men.  
He couldn't be working that other job of his, not with a cold, that would be unsanitary, and unprofessional, and unsexy. Mulder sneezing at someone's… The image made her giggle, and earned her a curious stare from the woman waiting in front of her in the checkout line. No, definitely shouldn't think about Mulder and other women, even like that. 

The movie didn't hold her interest, not as it used to anyway. She even turned the volume down low, all the screaming and chanting starting to get on her nerves. The ice cream came and went, while a forgotten bottle of wine she found in the fridge, kept calling her name. White, semi-sweet, light as a feather.  
Since it was a thank you gift from a neighbour, who's kid got sick and she just happened to be home that evening, she was saving it for some nice dinner occasion. But the longer she thought about it, the more she realised, that she didn't really see that nice dinner happening. Her mother visited rarely, Missy even rarer, actually, when she saw her family, it was at her mother's. Friends moved on, disappearing in the loving arms of families of their own, while she kept working and traveling. Even Mulder, found a way to spice up his life, break out of the routine. It was her, who stayed behind. Was she really the boring one?  
No, she was most definitely not. She opened the bottle and ran the bath.

_Much better._ Scully thought, letting the warm water take her in, a glass of wine dangling from her hand in soft candlelight. This felt good, simple and warm, and the wine was indeed divine. She savoured the crispness and breathed in the sweet scent of bath salts, letting her head fall back and her mind wander aimlessly.  
Surrounded by calm, memories began to float around her head.  
First came the weight, of his arm around her, then of him in her arms. He didn't try any tricks or dirty moves, utterly undemanding, even when he asked her to lie down beside him, he asked for nothing but the warmth of her body. For all the years of flirting, when it came to the real deal, he was disarmingly honest, blurring the lines just enough to get what he needed, and if she told him no, he would respect that. Not that she would, when he was shivering and looking at her with those eyes, and giving her that cute pout.  
Mulder was strong, intelligent and capable, but when the lights were out, when they were alone, he was a dreamer, a romantic, chasing romantic ideas no matter how far they would take him. She admired it, respected it, stopped it if she had too, but most of all, she loved it. As aggravating and dangerous it might be, Mulder was a challenge and she loved that about him.  
But how could she miss that whole other job of his? Why didn't he tell her earlier, apart from the obvious. He said he liked it, that the women cared about him, but why didn't he come to her. Didn't she care enough? She risked her life for him more times that she could count, without even stopping to think about it, but still, he searched for solace in somebody else's arms.  
What if this was his way to cope, to unwind? What if he was doing it tonight? What if the poker night was just a front, a code, to keep the secret from her all along.  
The phone stared at her from a shelf above the tub, brought in case someone called. Scully picked it up and stared back, at the keys. She knew the number by heart, didn't even need Mulder's perfect recall for it, and on an impulse, dialled. The phone rang, two, three times…  
"Lone Gunman," Frohike answered, sounding businesslike as usual.  
"Hi," she said, realising she was in a tub, naked. "It's Scully, could you turn off the recorder?"  
"Why hello, Agent Scully," his tone turned into something that supposed to fall under alluring, but could only be considered endearingly embarrassing. "Done as per your request, what else can I do for you?"  
Uncontrollable urge to cover herself up made her sit up, but she did it very slowly, afraid the sloshing water might give the game up.  
"Ummm," her cheeks burned. _What has come over me?_ "Is Mulder there?" 

On the other side of town, Frohike sighed and poked Mulder's shoulder with a wooden spoon.  
"It's for you," he said, waiting for him to swallow the bite of taco he just started. "The good doctor."  
Mulder licked his fingers from the last of salsa and took the phone.  
"Hey Scully, what's up?"  
"Hi," she said, voice faltering slightly, "how are you doing?"  
"Me? I'm fine," he smiled, popping a piece of green pepper into his mouth, "maybe five bucks behind, but I'll get that right back," he had to speak over the boo's and howls of the guys. "Why?"  
"It's nothing, just checking."  
"Are you okay, Scully? You didn't catch my cold, did you?" That silenced the Gunmen and good. Mulder could almost swear, he heard water sloshing on her end of the line.  
"No, no," she said, still a bit odd, "I'm fine."  
"Okay," he chuckled, definitely water sloshing.  
"I'm sorry for bothering you, have fun."  
"Thanks, and just so you know, you never bother me." That at least got a small laugh, she was acting kind of weird tonight.  
"Okay, goodnight."  
"Goodnight Scully."  
He hung up and went back to his food, grinning, under three pairs of curious eyes. Byers piped up first.  
"Why would Scully catch your cold?"  
"Not why, how." Langly corrected, when Mulder refused to look up.  
"You know I don't talk about that stuff." He said quietly.  
Collective howl shook the entire house that gave The Lone Gunman its' headquarters.


	9. Chapter 9

"Oh, come on!" Langly moaned, throwing his hand. "You're not gonna spill even a tiniest detail?"  
"She found out, we're okay," Mulder mumbled around the last bite of his taco. "What else do you need to know."  
"Gold-cross-around-her-neck Dana Scully, rational, grown-up Agent Scully," he leaned over the table intently, "is okay with you sleeping with random women. Just like that, no fight, no respect lost, business as usual?"  
He couldn't help a little smile tugging at his cheek. "Maybe not as usual, but yeah, we're fine."  
Byers shook his head, taking a sip of beer, Frohike didn't look happy either.  
"What, is that bad?"  
"She wasn't even a little bit jealous?" Byers asked, giving Mulder a sympathetic look.  
"No."  
"You should call Oxford," Langly chuckled, "get your money back."  
"For that big brain of yours, you're not too bright." Frohike said with a heavy sigh.  
"Okay, what am I missing here."  
"Well, my friend," Langly said, emphasising the last word as if it dirty, "you know about the friend zone, right?"  
"You're just trying to make me talk, and I'm not falling for it."  
"Mark my words, next thing you know, she'll be patting your knee, calling you cute."  
"She won't." His confidence was sealed tight with the memory of Scully's searching hand and the sound of a bath, sloshing in the background, a minute ago. 

With his coat on the floor and shoes barely toed off, no one was there to hear him fall into bed. Tuck him in, or nag about his breath, stinking of onions, bourbon and beer. Still, even if not perceived, he did exist, and so did Scully, even if she wasn't there to be. Drunk thoughts bobbed inside his head, as he tried to talk himself out of calling her. Even if she wasn't here, she was, home, safe, asleep in her bed most likely.  
Mulder rolled over onto his back, arms thrown wide, and his hand landed on something hard, that beeped, bounced back. He forgot he wasn't supposed to and pressed the overused button on his phone.  
After three harsh tones, she sighed, in that breathy midnight voice he loved, one that made him feel warm.  
"Scully."  
"Hey," he mumbled, closing his eyes, "I'm home."  
"That's good." She slurred a little, not quite awake. "Got your money back?"  
He smiled into the darkness, rolling over onto his side, pulling the sheets along for the ride.  
"And then some."  
"Mhmm."  
Past the point of words, she exuded sleep-eons over the line and Mulder could almost feel her warmth, memory of it fresh in his bones, floating like oil to the surface of his alcohol-diluted thoughts. When he drank, filters were first out the door.  
"You feel nice, Scully," he mumbled and closed his eyes for a few seconds.  
Seconds that turned into hours.

Cool breeze carried a scent, delicate but sweet, familiar, even if he couldn't quite place it. He followed it trough the snowy woods, breathing in deeply, as the forest grew thicker around him, branches and fallen trees slowing him down. Always one step behind, the things he wanted, a hair's breadth out of his grasp.  
Bright lights above moved in their never-ending dance, sending waves through time and space. Energies able to change balance of fate and send even the most entangled spirits into different orbits. 

Sooner rather than later, D.C. snow turned into grey sludge, filthy, semi-liquid goo splashed by passing cars, staining clothes and shoes and making life a living hell.  
Hell, that Scully was experiencing first hand, adding near sludge-shower to the growing list of mishaps. First, she ran out of coffee, then, her car wouldn't start, threatening her missing the flight. Then some idiot cut her off and took the last near spot she found in the parking lot. The stars did definitely not align for her, especially with going on a case on a Thursday, which meant working weekend, again.  
"You're late," she said. Arms folded over her chest and foot tapping nervously on tile, as she waited, last in line to board their flight.  
"Sorry," Mulder panted, straightening his tie.  
Batteries in his alarm clock died and he made a mental note to buy one that plugged in, to avoid such mornings in the future. 

The plane was small, with just enough room for two rows of seats, adjoining on one side and single on the other. Scully walked ahead, picking the single, and leaving Mulder at the mercy of whatever sweaty businessman, that eventually crossed their path.  
Before Mulder even had a chance to offer help, Scully wedged her suitcase inside the overhead compartment and sank into her seat, lumpy and uncomfortable, but lending enough leg room for her mere 5ft3'. She knew Mulder hated these flights, but she didn't feel generous enough to switch, her morning was terrible enough already.  
With the case file waiting closed in her lap, Scully shut her eyes and gave herself a few breaths to calm down as people bustled around her. Soon, a young, pleasant voice sounded near by.  
"Excuse me, I believe you're in my seat."  
"Oh, sorry." Mulder said, making her look up to see him, smiling at a tall, slender blonde, in an elegant pale grey jacket, and a skirt, barely passing for professional. "You need help with that?"  
"If you'd be so kind," she said, obviously pleased, stepping back to let him pass before she took his place, leaving Mulder to put away her small case.  
"Thank you," she smiled a brilliant smile, flipping hair back over one shoulder, when he took the seat beside her. "I'm sorry I insisted on the window seat, the view helps me forget my fear of flying."  
"Funny," he smiled warmly, "usually it's the view that scares people."  
"Not me, I find it fascinating."  
"It can be breathtaking," Mulder agreed, leaning a little closer, to look out the window, "but maybe not in this weather."  
"No," the woman laughed, "I guess not."  
Scully sighed quietly, but Mulder didn't let it go.  
"Any other ideas? Tricks? Magic spells?"  
The woman laughed, little louder this time, sweet and melodic.  
"Yes, one, conversation." She smiled, hand reaching out, "I'm Leah."  
"Mulder," he shook her hand and Scully could hear him smile.  
Warning lights for not smoking blinked on and for the first time in years, her hands resting on the armrests, closed. 

Before they passed over New York, Scully learned that Leah was a junior partner at a law firm, Something Or Other and Sons, lived in D.C. and loved dogs.  
"You don't?" She asked puzzled, when Mulder laughed.  
"No, it's not that, I just recently met someone who loved cockroaches, so…"  
"Who loves cockroaches?" She asked, a little appalled.  
"Scientists, researching nocturnal insect swarms." He replied, and they both laughed.  
"Everyone needs a hobby," she said, siping tonic with lime.  
"And to earn a living." He added, cheerfully.  
Scully tried to focus on work, but the conversation peeved her too much to pay attention to her notes. A series of murders, presumably tied to the occult, combined with what looked like a sloppy investigation, angered her even more. Another mindless witch hunt, she thought sourly.  
The woman laughed, just when a flight attendant passed between them, asking if they needed anything. Scully sensed Mulder shift in the cramped space of his seat. They both declined, almost simultaneously, making the girl ignore Scully, as if she didn't exist.  
The seat squeaked a little, each time Leah moved, crossing her legs for the millionth time. "So, Mulder, is that a first name, last name or a pseudonym?"  
Mulder chuckled softly, and Scully gave up, closed the folder and her eyes. They had still 40 minutes till landing, then a 2 hour drive to Comity, New Hampshire. 

Two days later, the green plaque saying "Comity, The Perfect Harmony City," stayed almost invisible, as they breezed past it, not to mention other signs on the side of the road.  
"You just… ran a stop sign back there, Scully."  
"Shut up, Mulder." She barked back, without humour.  
"Sure. Fine. Whatever."  
Heavy silence fell, still seething with emotions brought on by the case.  
Scully gripped the wheel in gloved hands and he knew, that her knuckles would be white beneath the soft leather. Mulder's thigh throbbed, burned when his gun that went off at the police station, but playing the injury card would only set her off. So he sat in the passenger's seat, watching the mile posts blur as she kept speeding through the New Hampshire night.  
He hated all of it, her sudden fit of stubborn anger, himself for snapping at her, and Detective White for throwing herself at him. He didn't appreciate that. If anything, he was glad, Scully wanted to get out of there, at least they agreed on something.  
_Big macho man._  
Was that what she really thought of him? That he was like any other guy, making fancy excuses for plain sleeping around? When White came to his room, all he did was try to keep enough room for writing it off as a misunderstanding, without accusing a fellow officer of assault. He didn't like it, he could have played it differently, but it wasn't his fault the woman didn't understand a polite no. No meant no, for everyone involved.  
Glancing at Scully, still silently scowling at the darkness, he could feel the wall vibrating around her, almost tangible. She was hurt. He hurt her.  
"It wasn't like that, Scully." He said, keeping his voice low and soft.  
"What?"  
"At the motel, before. She jumped me." He tried to explain, but she cut him off.  
"Listen, I don't care who or what you do on your own time, but when we're on a case."  
"It wasn't like that!" Mulder raised his voice and regretted it immediately.  
Scully stomped on the break, almost hanging him on his seatbelt.  
"I don't want to know!" She said, eyes screwed shut and head pulled between her shoulders. Leather creaked as her grip tightened even further and she fell forward, hiding deeper, her resolve crumbling down.  
"It's none of my business, with whom do you sleep," she whispered, without looking up.  
He was probably risking his arm, but he reached out, gently brushing one hand over her back.  
"The only person I slept with in the past four years, was you," he said with honesty.  
Scully didn't look up, but didn't shrug him off either, which meant progress. "I saw a motel on the map, about twenty miles from here and I wouldn't mind sleeping away from this madness for a bit. You?"  
She nodded, avoiding his gaze, but that too, was a step. He could live with small steps. 

Scully couldn't sleep try as she might. The sheets smelled weird, too much starch or bleach, too cold.  
She wanted to believe, to let go, but something inside her bled. She thought she was over it, reasoning the facts into submissions, lining them up in neat piles as she always did. Mulder was her friend, honest and loyal when it came to matters between them and their work. He was also an escort, but it never got in the way of her or their work. He knew how to keep the things separate and she could count on that.  
Until she couldn't, until she saw that woman all over him. When they were on the clock, no less.  
Anger and frustration chased each other around her heart, until they clashed, breaking it in half. Even if he didn't mean it, he shouldn't ditch her, not like that, when they were working.  
But as she tried to talk herself through it, she couldn't help imagining Mulder, embracing the woman, accepting, letting her in, to take her place. A place Scully only began to imagine herself in, in the mornings and the evenings, on a couch in a house that felt like hers but looked like him.  
Pain made silent tears soak the starched pillow, letting her drift into oblivion.

Somewhere on the edge of dream, sleep twitch jostled the mattress and something small and warm curled up against her back. Cold nose touched the back of her neck and tickled her ear, making her smile, and like that, she was gone. 

On the other side of the wall, not a foot away, Mulder sat on the bed, leaning against the cold plaster with forehead resting on his folded forearms.  
He wiped his eyes. Stupid rhinitis. 

They went home in the morning. Not talking about it.  
Days went by in silence. Something broke and as much as Mulder tried to reach out, he found polite denial every time. Scully didn't ask how he was anymore, she didn't laugh at his jokes as freely as she did before. It wasn't the first time, but it hurt more than usual.  
"How about that lunch, I promised?" He asked on a gloomy Tuesday.  
"Not today, I've got some samples I need to take to the lab."  
"You wanna come with me to the Smithsonian? I'm meeting with an astrophysics professor, to talk about what really happened in Comity."  
Silence. Scully only smiled and shook her head, going back to the report, or perhaps a new article. She burned through paperwork like forest fire, a telltale sign he learned to read as 'stay away'. He was growing tired of the cold shoulder. 

Friday night he picked up the phone.  
"Hey Foxy!" Bear boomed in his usual happy manner. "How's the cold."  
"Gone, good as new. You got something for me?"  
"Not right now, but it's only 8, you clocking in?"  
"Yeah, let me know."  
Not twenty minutes later, his phone rang again.  
"New customer."  
"Where." Mulder wrote down the address. "I'm on my way."

Cold. The night was unbearably cold. She never noticed it before, having the same dream over and over. Empty forest bathed in moonlight, blue glow and shadows, walking up the path, alone, hoping to find the clearing but never reaching the top. Wind howled through branches above her head, but the mist that spread over the ground only quivered lightly. Like thigh deep water it weighed down her every step, but she wasn't going to give up, moving forward, watching every step she took in the dark.  
Echo of a laugh bounced between the trees, something moved in the shadows. Scully paused and listened, looking around. Nothing, blue snow and…  
A piercing yelp of a wounded animal cut through the night like a knife. 

Scully woke up on her mother's couch, disoriented and frantic, panic sending her heart racing.


	10. Chapter 10

"You must've been really tired." Maggie said walking in, as Scully searching for her arms and legs between the covers.   
"I need to go."   
Setting the tray down, she looked puzzled at her daughter. "Now?"  
"I forgot something," Scully said, not sure herself, how to explain.  
"You're white as a sheet, Dana, what's wrong."   
"I don't know, mom," she went to her and they hugged, even if a little surprised, "but I need to go."   
"Okay, but let me at least pack some cookies for you."   
Scully forced a smile and kissed her mothers' cheek one more time, "thanks."   
Something was terribly wrong. 

Gripping the wheel tightly kept her hands from shaking and tears from falling. She knew the feeling all too well. She had it when she rushed to Alaska, forcing her way through military ranks, all the way to Eisenhower Field, praying she would make it before it was too late. She had it standing over a burned train cart, in the middle of New Mexico desert, alone and terrified. There was no reasonable explanation for it, but that didn't stop her. There was simply too much at stake to sit on her hands and ponder.   
Skidding to a stop in front of Mulder's building, she noticed his car in its' usual spot and calmed down a bit. Still, she ran up the path, taking the steps to the front door two at a time, fiddling with the keys, not even stopping to consider possibilities. Was she superstitious? Not really, but there were moments in her life, that escaped rational explanation and she was right too many times, to discount them. Better safe than sorry.  
Tapping one foot nervously as the elevator doors slid open on the fourth floor, she got out and walked cautiously down the corridor, looking around for anything suspicious. Nothing, just the usual noises of an apartment building on a late Friday evening.   
Her hands shook as she paused by his door, glancing at the lock, no signs of tampering or forced entry. The key slipped easily into the slot, and taking a deep breath, she pushed them open. 

The shower was going; normal, everyday sounds of water sloshing, no struggle, no drowning. The place was mostly dark, except for a single lamp by the couch and the glowing fish tank. Three steps in, Scully noticed clothes thrown over the back of one of the chairs, black jacket, pants, shirt, and the tie. It felt silky smooth as she ran her fingers over the gold thread, tiny, intricate, gold foxes…  
"Scully?" Mulder stood in the bedroom door, pair of sweats hanging around his hips. She never noticed the water stopping. "What are you doing here?"   
"I was," she looked away, fingers closing on the fabric. She didn't think, she didn't plan this, and as she tried to find a plausible reason, he crossed the room and gently took the tie out of her hands. She could smell his shampoo and it made her feel vulnerable.   
"Go home, Scully," Mulder said quietly, turning away from her. He wasn't angry, he didn't shout, and that finally made her look up, only to see two sets of angry red marks on his back. Awkwardness fell away and her hands were on him, turning him to the light.  
"Jesus Mulder, what happened?" She asked when he hissed in pain.  
"New client, got carried away," Mulder sighed.   
She steered him to the couch, then disappeared in the kitchen, for the medical kit. When she came back, he sat with his head bowed, worrying the tie in his hands.   
Snap of gloves made him flinch, as she sat behind him to examine the marks closer. They ran from shoulder blades to his hips and he twitched each time she touched them. "I have to clean this," she said softly, resting one hand on his shoulder, calming, but also silently asking permission before doing anything. Mulder nodded slightly.   
She did her best to be gentle, dabbing at the marks with a piece of gauze soaked in disinfectant. Methodically working her way down, she felt his pain in every twitch, hiss and sharp inhale, anger bubbling somewhere inside. How could anyone hurt him like this, didn't he suffer enough? Then her eyes fell to the scar, still fresh on his shoulder, from a bullet she herself put there. She hurt him too, and even if she had good reason, even if she knew that she made the right call, for a second or two, she didn't like herself very much either.   
"The moment it happened, I was out of there," he said, breaking the cycle.   
"Did you use protection?" She asked, making sure, forever a doctor.  
"Of course." He sighed, but as he spoke, she felt him tense and start to pull away. "You think?"  
Scully caught him quickly, hugging his shoulders, lips at his ear.   
"It looks nasty, but she didn't break skin." She said reassuringly, reaching her arms around him, so that he could see her take the gloves off; she was done anyway.   
All steam seemed to leave Mulder's body and he sagged into her, keeping her hands on his chest. She couldn't ignore the warm, damp skin, or the heart racing under her fingertips, so she closed her arms around him tightly.   
"Is that what you want?" She whispered, not taking her eyes off the tie, laying in front of them like snake's moulted skin. He shook his head, freeing himself from her embrace and turned around to see her.   
Scully readied herself to be dismissed, told off for prying, invading his privacy, but she wasn't. He took her face in his hands and leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, warm breath tickling her lips.   
“I want this,” he whispered and brushed a kiss on her forehead, then cheek, “and this.” Her heart began to sink, but hint of a smile coloured his voice when he kissed the tip of her nose. “And this.”   
Thumbs brushed her blushing cheeks, tilting her face gently as she watched his eyes fall shut. The softest kiss touched her mouth, lingering, one thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three… and she kissed him back, letting her lips part and their tongues brush, sending butterflies down her throat and chills up her spine. Mulder met her half way, then drew her deeper, fingers twining in her hair for a moment, before he broke for air, resting his forehead against hers once again. “Definitely want this,” he whispered, breath trembling.   
“Then what are you waiting for?” She smiled, fear turning into joy in the space of three kisses, flat.   
“I’m not finished,” he chuckled, fingertips sliding down her neck, “I want this too.” He pressed a kiss to her pulse, already racing, then brushing hair away, very gently scraped the skin with his teeth, making her shoulder tingle, “and this." He teased, kissing her collarbone, and down till he reached the edge of her shirt.   
Scully didn't hide the light panting, or the flush that crept over her skin, but as she shifted an inch away, a hand on her hip betrayed him. The lines were ingrained so deep, that idea of really crossing them felt unreal. But she was real, and she did want him, so she smiled and slowly unbuttoned the top button, leaning back. "I’m listening.”   
Mulder leaned over her, and kissed the revealed spot between her breasts, then looked up.  
“I want all of you, Scully,” he said slowly, fingers brushing skin. “You’re everything I want.”   
Covering his hand, she moved it a little, to press down on her breast.  
"You want to know what I want?" She asked, encouraging the kneading he started while nodding eagerly.   
"I want your arms and hands," two more buttons went through their holes, revealing black lace. "Your legs and ass."  
She hooked one leg around his hip, and undid the fourth, exposing pale skin. Mulder licked his lips, looking down, hand on her tit closing hard. She felt him shift, eager to move south and follow her hands, but then last button came undone and soft fabric fell around her sides. Combing fingers through his hair she brought him back, their eyes locking over this new ground.   
"I want you," she said softly, "not Mr. Fox."   
She felt him shift, pulling her down, his weight landing in her arms, lips on hers, kissing deep as she kissed him back. He gave her a second to wrap her arms and legs around him and a heartbeat later, he was pulling back. Her grip tightened, unwilling to let go, now that she had him.   
"Hold on," he chuckled, lifting her off the couch and into his arms, never breaking the kiss he pressed to her mouth while swallowing her little huff of surprise. For once they were both glad she wore pants.   
She smelled fresh linens when he lowered her gently, fingers twined in her hair, arm around her waist, strength a little surprising, even if she did lose some weight recently.   
His grip loosened so she arched her back, pulling the blouse away, letting lace and pebbled nipples tease his chest.   
"God, you're beautiful," Mulder smiled, leaving her just enough room to free her hands and send the fabric over the edge of his bed.   
"Since when do you pray, Mulder?" Clasp behind her back gave and the lace vanished, revealing clear skin. His world shrank to twin pinpoints of pink nipples, erect proudly.   
"Since now," he breathed and closed his mouth on the right one, laving and sucking before circling the areola and trapping the peak between his plump lips.   
Scully gasped and held him closer, keeping the hand covering her other breast in place, teasing and squeezing.   
"Oh God!" She gasped again when he bit down gently, immediately wiping the sting with his tongue. It felt heavenly.  
"Nope," Mulder grinned, "just me, more?"  
"Yeah," she breathed, giving in to sensations, she rarely dared to imagine.   
Seconds stretched ad infinitum, but slowly his lips and hands moved south, sliding down her sides, as he kissed a path around her stomach.   
"What else do you want, Scully?" He murmured between nibbles and licks.   
"You want a map?" She teased, giggling when he tickled her tummy with just the tip of his nose. She never knew she'd love it.   
"Talk to me." He said simply, trailing kisses patiently, just above her jeans.   
"It's your turn," Scully said, propping herself on her elbows.   
"To do what?"   
"Buttons," she grinned, wriggling up a little.   
Mulder could smell her through denim. Never taking his eyes of hers, he popped the buttons free of their holes, all four of them, and pealed the jeans of her shapely legs along with the stockings he passed on his way down. Black panties trimmed with lace were all that was left between him and promised land.   
He was high, on her, all teasing and playful and unbridled. White, slender fingers teased her sex through the fabric. Mulder gulped.  
"You forgot something," she smiled, pressing down gently.   
"Show me," he said moving away, kneeling on the bed, voice shaking, griping himself through his sweats.   
"You first," she stroked some more, soaking black satin.   
"No, you first," he grinned.   
Scully smiled and arched an eyebrow, slipping one hand under the waistband. He could see the shape of her fingers, sliding first over then between her folds. Stars above, he could hear her, wet sounds of fingers teasing her core.   
She didn't stop when he leaned in and gently took the fabric in trembling fingers, or when she lifted her hips of the bed, letting him pull the panties away, revealing neatly trimmed curls, darkened with arousal.   
"I want you," she bit her lip, rubbing herself a little more freely, "here."   
"Which part," he said, panting, never letting his eye off her hand. Why was he doing this to himself?  
"Mulder," her tone turned warning, but not dangerous, "look at me."   
He did, slowly, remembering every detail on his way up. Creamy thighs, toned belly, epic tits, flushed and fluttering with ragged breathing, until he reached her face, pink cheeks and blue eyes, burning. She stopped the teasing and sat up.   
"Condoms?"   
He nodded at the bedside table, and she reached into the drawer. Found three, kept one, leaving the others out like a promise, and crossed the bed on all fours, all the way to his side.   
With arms around his neck and lips on his again, she pressed herself to his chest, letting him roam over naked skin, unhindered. He caressed her back, squeezing ass in one hand, with fingers reaching between thighs, making her moan into his mouth. But as he tried to lay her back, she locked down. They broke the kiss but not apart, and she ran her hands down his arms, then around the waist, cautiously pulling the sweats down.   
"Did I ever tell you," she smiled, pushing him to seat on his heels, "that you talk too much?"   
"No." He grinned as she tore the little packet open, with her teeth.   
"Well, Mulder," she let the wrapper drop to the floor, "sometimes, you talk too much." Leaning in, she kissed him on the mouth and unrolled the latex over his rock-hard cock.   
"And you're bossy," he countered, pulling her into his lap, "sometimes."   
"And you're…"   
Mulder didn't find out what else he was, because his lips were on hers again, and with little help and one arm around her waist, he lifted her and slipped inside. Breaking the kiss, gasping, she held on to his shoulders as he held on to her, calling on all his strength to not come, then and there. She was tight and hot and smelled so good, he just might.   
Feeling her start to shift and rock on his length, he combed the red strands away from her face and behind her ears. "Look at me, Scully."   
She grinned, setting a rhythm, lip trapped between her teeth.   
"I like this," he said, starting to meet her, "watching you."   
"I figured that," she grinned wickedly, grinding down, "what else?"   
"Your voice," he pulled her close, catching her earlobe before whispering in her ear. "So close."  
"Knew that too," she whispered back, "all the phone calls."   
"What do you like?"   
"Touch me," she panted, taking his hand and pushing it between them, "and don't stop."   
She shut him up with a kiss and Mulder started to work her clit, slipping as she moved faster against him. Tiny moans replaced banter as she grew tighter, soaking wet against his abdomen.  
"Harder," she panted into his ear and he listened, screwing his eyes shut. Too good, she felt too good.  
"Oh God!" She gasped, pulling him closer as they panted in unison.  
"Shit!"   
"Let go," she breathed and even his bed frame moaned for her.   
"You first," he grinned and pressed down, bouncing her by surprise, making her breath catch, and her head fall back.   
Her muscles clamped around him and he couldn't hold back. He exploded inside her and the world disappeared from their map for a long while. 

With one, last, drunk effort he slipped out of her and laid her down on the bed, where she still was when he came back from the bathroom. Flushed and breathing heavily, sprawled with arms spread wide, claiming the space. There was nothing shy about her, and he loved that. He didn't have to pretend when he crawled into bed and laid down his head on her chest, pulling himself as close as possible, without actually laying on top of her. Scully didn't flinch either, just wrapped her arms around him, stroking his hair gently.  
"Mulder?"   
"Hmm?"   
"Do you do, like, loyalty cards or something?"   
He laughed and they laughed together, and the feeling of her, naked and laughing in his arms was a reason to live, if he ever needed one to remember. He pressed a kiss under her jaw, ticking her side and making her laugh more.   
"That's it," he chuckled, keeping his lips just below her ear, "that's your membership fee."   
"What?"   
"Your laugh, Scully."   
Mulder kissed and nibbled his way down her neck and for a second pressed his nose against her skin, breathing in.   
"Did you just smell me," she laughed again and pulled at his hair gently.   
He grinned and did it again. "It was you," he chuckled, kissing her pulse, "what is it?"  
"I don't know, soap?"   
"No," he broke free, looking at her, catching her lips sloppily, "that's something new."   
"You know the scent of my soap."   
"I can't place it and it's been driving me crazy."   
"I like your crazy," she smiled, keeping the kiss in place long enough to give it back. "It's bergamot," she said, letting him in on the secret, "like in tea, Earl Grey."   
"That's it!" Burying his nose in her neck one last time, he inhaled her deeply, "Oxford! Mrs. Callaghan."   
"Who?"   
"My land lady, when I was living in England."   
"I hope that's a good thing."   
"Very," he smiled and sank into her arms again, finally calm.   
"You should tell me sometime." She sighed, stifling a yawn.   
"Can you tell me something?" He mumbled, feeling her drift of.  
"Ask," she mumbled back, stroking his back.   
"How did you know, to come I mean?"  
"White fox told me," she breathed, "in a dream."   
"Right," he chuckled, taking it for a joke.   
"Sleep Mulder."   
"You're on my side of the bed," he grumbled.   
"You mind?"   
"No," he sighed, making himself comfortable then murmured, against her bergamot skin. "It's all yours."   
"All mine." She echoed, and they fell asleep. 

Snow began to thaw. Clear puddles covered ice, but her path was green, only slightly damp. She climbed to the clearing, counting familiar trees and listening to birds singing. Sun felt warm on her back, shining through branches, ready for spring leaves.   
The fox waited for her in the clearing. Sitting up as she approached, pushing his head under her palm.   
"Hey there," she knelt on the ground and scratched his ears, making his eyes fall shut as she moved to scratching under his chin.  
"You saved us," she breathed, pulling him into a hug, "thank you."   
The fox started to lick her neck and ear and she drew back, amused and slightly disgusted. His tongue was lolling in an almost doggy grin, and she noticed, that his eyes changed. They were no longer gold and deep green, but softer, liquid, blue-green-hazel-winter-ocean.   
"Mulder."   
She pulled the fox back into her arms, feeling his soft fur and solid warmth. Gentle breeze washed over her cheek, carrying an echo.   
_Scully._


	11. Epilogue

She woke up to a pale, pre-dawn light and Mulder beside her, asleep on his side. Still warm and real, even if facing away from her. Scooting closer, she draped one arm around his waist and dropped a kiss between his shoulder blades.   
"You ever woke up in love?" He murmured, taking her hand and pulling her closer.   
"Yeah," she smiled, kissing his shoulder, "just now."   
"Feels good, doesn't it?"   
"It does," she sighed, holding on to the feeling.   
The baby stirred in its' bassinet, fussing for a second and Mulder let go of her hand, to put the pacifier back between the boy's tiny, plump lips. She heard him suckle and quiet immediately.   
"Your son," she smiled, nuzzling Mulder's neck.   
"Our son," he corrected, turning to face her.   
The house around them creaked and popped soothingly, as larks in the woods started whistling their tune.  
"Did you ever think, he'd be so perfect?"  
"Not even in my wildest dreams."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to my darling Beta, who braved through this story with me, even if it wasn't her thing at first, and thank you for all the comments and encouragements from you, Dear Reader. see you next time.


End file.
